Goodnight, Alice
by NightmareWalker
Summary: They don't tell her she's alone, but she knows. She hides the pills under her tongue until they leave and then stares at them, asking her to wait just a little longer (I'll be home soon, I love you). She opens her Pandora's box of memories as she lifts the pills to her mouth. Quickie I had to write lest it drive me to insanity. Short, sad and sweet. Implied Bellice.


Just a quick one-shot that literally woke me out of a sound sleep this morning. Sad and sweet, could be either Alice or Bella depending on how you read it. Ready your tissues and enjoy! Don't forget to review and leave me ideas if you want me to write something!

I don't own Twilight, Ms. Meyer does. I just use her characters for my own pleasure and do strange and different things with them ^o^

* * *

She wakes up and stretches languidly, hand brushing against soft skin laying next to her. She carefully climbs out of bed and dresses, moving as quietly as she can so she won't wake her (she's had a long day, she could use the extra time). Shadows like bruises betray her own restless sleep but it doesn't matter when she looks at the bed and sees the form under the covers breathing deeply regularly constantly. She smiles softly and turns to leave, throwing a last glance over her shoulder before gently shutting the door.

They don't tell her she's living alone.

* * *

She floats around her room, arms lightly at her waist as they laugh when she spins her out and brings her back too fast, almost sending them both tumbling. The radio plays in the background, their song heard in double as she whispers it against her ear, holding her close. She squeezes her arm lightly and rests her head on her shoulder, letting the music take her away.

They don't tell her she's dancing alone.

* * *

_Post-traumatic stress disorder, hallucinations,_ words bounce like marbles inside her head and she squeezes her eyes shut and puts her hands over her ears, rocking on her bed to block out the sound.

_I still see her, I still feel her,_ repeats like a mantra in her head as she grasps desperately at her, growling when she dances just out of her reach. A sound like a whimper escapes her lips (don't leave, don't go) and tears run silent tracks down a thin face. She relaxes when familiar arms wrap around her shoulders and soothing words are whispered into her ear. A small smile graces chapped lips as she whispers words in cadence with a hummed tune. She lays down and pulls a hand into her own, arm slung across her waist and feels the comforting warmth at her back. She falls asleep with smile on her face.

They don't tell her she's sleeping alone.

* * *

They don't tell her, but she knows. It's a rare day (every day) that she lets herself remember, closing her eyes and sifting through her head to find that Pandora's box of memories. She runs through every moment in painstaking detail, memorizing each nuance that makes her up, every arched eyebrow and tilted head and quirk of her lips that means something different else more.

They don't notice that only takes half of her pills, hiding the others under her tongue until they leave and then sticking them into a small hole she made in her mattress. She does this for nearly two weeks, each day an excercise in restraint, in silent agony. Images run like a silent movie through her mind's eye, each smile a blade through her belly, slowly bleeding her dry. Her broken heart, living on borrowed time, trembles at each melodic laugh that echoes through her ears, windchimes cutting her deeper and deeper with each graceful sound.

Finally (too soon, never soon enough to see her again), they leave her for the night after giving her the usual pills. She takes them from her mouth and palms them, digging the others from the softness of her mattress and the colors mingle like fallen leaves, stark against the pale unhealthy sick tone of her skin. She closes her eyes, digging deep into her mind for that last image she wants, discarding sifting choosing carefully. As she swallows each pill, memories dance across the back of her lids, a vivid kaleidoscope of her (their) past. Smiles and eyes crinkled in laughter, exasperated looks across the table when she does something silly, hands held as they walk down the sidewalk, lips turned up in a grin when she dances in the kitchen to the radio, pupils dilated as she stalks her to the bed, smooth hands traversing her body, each and every moment they shared together blending into an intoxicating drink that slides down her throat like silk (her skin is silk).

She reclines on the bed and feels lips against her temple, at her jaw, her neck, until they stop at her heart, racing too fast (but the speed so familliar, achingly comforting). Her back arches in silent plea to finish this, don't make her wait any longer (but she's such a tease and she loves it) and she gasps as she tumbles over that last precipice and falls into her embrace (into the void). Chasing the last echoes of her heartbeat she draws the most precious image she has, the last image she has of her before she was torn away. Dark hair against the light of the pillow, eyes closed in sleep and lips upturned in a smile (what she would give to know what she dreams of). Body barely covered by the sheets, pale shoulders and lean, smooth back bared for her hand to run over again (don't wake her yet though). She presses her lips to that skin and whispers to her before turning away (only for a moment though, she'll be there when she turns back, arms wide and eyes loving, she'll take her into her arms and won't let her go again).

_Goodnight, Alice._


End file.
